


Realized Feeling

by mamodewberry



Category: Free!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff and Smut, I KILLED GABAPPLE, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Series, WHICH IS PROBLEMATIC AS SHE'S MY BETA, too cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamodewberry/pseuds/mamodewberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It</i> caused cheeks to blush and speech to stammer and a small fire to churn in the pit of stomachs. <i>It</i> was an itch, or a craving, to see the other, to reach out and touch for longer than the half seconds from before, to feel more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realized Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hetahe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetahe/gifts).



> Written for [agaricals](http://agaricals.tumblr.com/) for winning Round Four in the Official MakoHaru Festival 2015. She requested The Night Before her winning piece [HERE](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/113560067634/username-agaricals-round-number-4-daily-theme) and I do hope I did it some justice! Sweet and consensual love-making is my jam. Why is it whenever I write smut it, turns out more vanilla than I intend? Title comes from the Free! ES soundtrack which is

They procrastinated talking about _It_.

Green radiated with warmth of the sun, blue was less guarded and shone brilliantly from mutual apologies, forgiveness and realized dreams. Hands that often joined in the morning and at the finish line didn’t wish to let go of the days of their youth that were steadily ticking.

Victory and amends caused something to stir. With each glance and fleeting touch the week that followed nationals, something had changed between them and they knew each other well enough to know the other felt _It_ , too, or some semblance of it. Gentle touches had been normal. Close proximity was welcomed without permission. Hand offered to assist in getting out of the bathtub had been habit. And now they were becoming hyper aware of when _It_ happened and very conscious of the other’s presence.

 _It_ caused cheeks to blush and speech to stammer and a small fire to churn in the pit of stomachs. _It_ was an itch, or a craving, to see the other, to reach out and touch for longer than the half seconds from before, to feel more.

~~

“Haru,” Makoto started as they paused at the fork in the stairs. “Mom and Dad are taking Ren and Ran to visit my grandparents in Okinawa this weekend… would you mind keeping me company?” He mentally kicked himself for how worked up he was getting.

Haru took a step down to be level with his view. “You’re not going with them?”

“Not this time,” he answered, clutching the strap of his backpack, thinking about how maybe being alone they could figure out what _It_ was. If anything, they could enjoy what time they had together before distance separated them. ”They are a real handful out there. I thought a quiet break in would be nice. I guess you’re over at my place all the time, so maybe you want me to come over instead? Ah, sorry, that sounds like I’m inviting myself!”

“I don’t mind coming over. I like your house. Should I bring anything?”

Makoto heart nearly jumped out of his chest at that. “Anything you’d like is fine. I think Mom bought mackerel the other day. Should have ingredients for miso, too. Does Friday after your bath sound good?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Haru had considered skipping his bath. Naturally Makoto was being considerate of his daily rituals and wouldn’t dream of disrupting… but Haru wanted to show him how eager he was for their weekend together. There were times Makoto wasn’t very perceptive and he didn’t want to risk this being one time he was, so he opted to take his afternoon soak, though he had trouble staying in as long

The night before he had made a small cake for two. He didn’t care for sweets much, but he had been invited over; it was only polite. Makoto liked cake.

The smile that greeted him when he knocked on the door - eyes smiling more than his mouth, laugh lines and dimples forming prominently to remain even once his face muscles had long loosened - was worth it.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, Haru!” Makoto said, all the while his stomach singing praises to the beautiful, and definitely delicious ( _Haru_ made it, after all), white cream and strawberry confectionery. _It_ decided to chime in as well.

Haru one-shoulder-shrugged and made his way to the kitchen to put the cake in the fridge until they were ready to eat it. “You said bring anything I’d like.”

“I did say that… but I didn’t want you to put yourself out making something!”

“Wasn’t difficult. I had everything at home, already.”

Somehow he doubted that was the case, but choose to let it be. “Thank you. I can’t wait until dessert time.”

A soft smile formed. “Should we make dinner, now?”

“‘We?’ You know I’m useless in the kitchen…” Was it not that long ago Haru tried to cook with him to prove he was capable only to prove it impossible with how he’d mixed up salt for the sugar?

“You’re a decent chopper. We can make yaki udon; it’s simple enough. You can chop the vegetables and the mackerel after I clean it.”

“Okay. Thank you for not giving up on me!”

 

Of course he’d never give up on him. Not about his fear of water and certainly not over a lack of culinary skills. Like his own kitchen, Haru rummaged through the cupboards and drawers for a cutting board, bowls and knives and laid out the vegetables from the fridge.

“Use half of the onion and a few leaves of cabbage, all of the two carrots and green onions and pepper,” he instructed, taking Makoto by the arms and guiding him to the opposite counter he just set up. “Remember to cut away from yourself.”

“Right!”

Wordlessly they set about their tasks. While Haru prepared the noodles and broth, he heard the uneven pattern of knife against wood accompanied by a small hum. His best friend always watched him when he cooked. Admiring his skill, his demeanor practically screamed ‘I want to help’. Someone like him couldn’t stand by while another did all the work. This was a way to ease that need, little by little, whether he was successful or not. It wasn’t long before he heard a defeated sigh.

“I’m not good at this, Haru…”

Haru placed his own knife down and stepped over to observe. The cabbage was more chunks than shredded pieces and the carrots and onions were far from symmetrical pieces. “It’s going to get eaten. Doesn’t matter.”

“But if you did it, it would look too pretty to eat,” he said miserably, pushing around a carrot with the knife edge.

“We want to eat it, though.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It’s going to taste the same,” Haru assured. “Here. Let me show you again.”

 

At first Haru’s hands on his own didn’t do anything - nothing about it other than helping him position his hands for better cutting and less likely to cut fingers in the process - but his voice was soft in his guidance and Makoto had a hard time concentrating on anything but the mellow timber. The smaller, slender hand gave a gentle squeeze over his larger and calloused ones, causing _It_ to flutter in his belly.

“Does that make sense?”

He snapped out of his trance, and lifted his eyes to look Haru in his face. “H-huh? I mean, yeah. Yes, it does, thanks!”

Their hands remained like that until the pot with the noodles boiled over in a hiss.

Haru pulled away and Makoto was sure he saw color on his pale cheeks as he went to attend to the pot. He had felt _It_ , too.

They returned to enjoying the quiet company of the other while working on dinner once more. Makoto tried to utilize the skills he had been reminded of, though the only thing he really thought of was how Haru’s hand felt on his and how much he wanted to know what it felt like to be touched elsewhere like that.

Once the vegetables were all cut and sorted, Haru presented the cleaned mackerel after tossing the vegetables in a ready pan. The fish was intimidating even without the head still attached to it.

“How do I cut around the bones?”

“You can’t, completely. You’ll need to pick the small ones out if they don’t fall out on their own.”

He hesitated. He had little confidence in doing this on his own and maybe Haru would take his hands again… Heat came to his face when Haru did just that.

You can ask me his blue eyes conveyed, brows drawn, though it was likely he’d have done it without provocation.

A nod was all he managed and that was all Haru needed to continue with educating in cutting mackerel.

 

Silence was never uncomfortable with Makoto and that was one of the best parts of their relationship. They always could read the other. Not perfect telepathy like so many had thought - if that were the case they wouldn’t need to talk about _It_ , they’d just know what it meant. But in moments like this, working in a small space and being close… okay, _It_ had changed that and now there was something more there and Haru was unsure if it really was comfortable anymore. It was itchy and hot and made him a little nervous which was strange as this was _Makoto_ and he was incapable of making anyone feel that way.

He felt Makoto’s hands twitch at the contact at first and then settle and submit to his ministrations. Flesh sliced easily and the tiny bones mostly stayed attached to the spine. After all the meat had been cut from the body, together they examined and exhumed the tiny bones from the rest and were then scooped into the pan to be fried. The distance felt cold.

The vegetables sizzled and the fish was added for a minute or two, then the noodles and broth were mixed together for the final steps of their meal. The aroma filled the entire room as the range was extinguished and dinner was served.

Compliments on Haru’s cooking were less frequent than his swimming, he still accepted the praise quietly, unsure what the big deal was. But, when Makoto said something, mouth full with whatever he’d made, eyes closed in bliss, he believed that he could maybe be a _little_ special. Makoto didn’t flatter for the sake of flattery; his words were always genuine. At the Tachibana home with the two of them sitting across from one another, it was much easier to ‘hear’ Makoto’s approval in his entire countenance.

Their eyes met for a moment only for _It_ to knock and they blushed and turned back to their food.

“T-thank you for dinner, Haru. It was wonderful.”

“You helped.”

“I only cut things. You did what actually makes it good.”

“You still helped,” Haru said with finality.

The tone didn’t go unmissed. With a contented smile, Makoto stood and cleared their plates. “What now? We can watch that movie I recorded on TV. Remember the one we missed at the cinema last year?”

Not really, but if Makoto wanted to watch something that was fine. Watching a movie meant--

 

\--Sitting close. That would make _It_ come and maybe he’d be able to work up the courage to talk about it. If the movie was boring that would make things easy because waiting almost two hours next together when things have been this way for nearly two weeks sounded like torture.

They moved into the living room with the cake and settled on the sofa, knees knocking as they shifted into a comfortable position. Makoto toggled through the DVR and found the movie in question - an American film about a cargo ship being hijacked. Any movie with water kept Haru’s attention (Titanic excluding) and he seemed to be partial to dramas. Thankfully it was available dubbed in Japanese.

After ten minutes, cake eaten, Haru shifted and tucked his leg under himself and propped his elbow on the sofa back and rested his chin on his palm, head tilting towards Makoto.

 _It_ urged at him to tilt his own head so to bump into Haru’s in a cute and awfully shojo cliched manner way. Would Haru be mad if he did that? Didn’t sound very romantic, really. Unless _It_ was telling him that Haru was inviting him to?

Whether that was the case or not, Haru tired of the position and returned to sitting properly, hand resting between them.

Makoto’s eyes flickered from the hand to the screen. Should he put his hand over his? Internally he debated with himself for half the movie until he listened to _It_ and gradually lifted his hand from his lap and placed it behind Haru’s to slowly edge with his fingers. Raising from his palm--

 

\--Makoto’s hand cupped over the top of his own. He’d watched him do it from his peripheral vision, trying to not startle him by saying he is more than welcome to do that, _It_ told him. They’d held hands before, hell, he’d just been holding his hands in the kitchen not more than an hour ago, but like this? Somehow his heart decided to play hopscotch.

“H-Haru…” though whispered he could hear the stutter in his voice followed by a distinct swallow.

He turned his body toward him. _Yes, I’m listening._

“Do you-,” he closed his mouth and looked away. Steeling himself, he tried again less tentatively. “Do we, I mean, are we…”

Reactively, they turned their bodies toward one another, faces drawing closer without conscious permission. This was _It’s_ doing, he was sure, but he had no intentions of stopping. Whatever _It_ was, _It_ wanted something for them. Unknown as it was, as much as he disliked that and change, he was willing to try. Judging by how Makoto’s half-lidded eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes, he was, too.

“Yes,” Haru breathed and closed what was left of the gap between them with his lips. Stiff and chaste. Not at all what he had imagined it to feel like.

“Can we do that again?” Makoto asked, cheeks definitely rosey. He wasn’t satisfied, either.

Haru angled his head this time to avoid noses. A little wetter that time. “Again.”

Mouths opened wider and he could taste the sugary leftovers of the cake on his lips and decided he didn’t mind eating sweets this way. He also decided he needed to do something with his hands. He brought them to the back of Makoto’s head, weaving his fingers into his brunette locks and gave a tug, causing Makoto to moan in his mouth.

_Oh._

He drew a breath from his nose and dived once more and received another, proving that it wasn’t a fluke and he really did like that.

To see if it garnered the same reaction, Makoto overlapped their arms to reciprocate and they both discovered that yes it did.

Every once in a while he’d feel what he believed to be, Makoto’s tongue brush at his lip with each connection and breath. What if he--

 

\--Something probed into his mouth and it wasn’t until it touched his own that he realized Haru’s tongue was inside. Taken off guard, a moan mixed with a whine sounded from his throat and it was so _embarrassing_ he broke away, chest heaving to catch his breath.

“What?” Haru asked. _Did you not like it?_

“Just surprised,” his voice a low rasp. It occurred to him that their lips not touching felt like a million kilometers apart, cold and restricting and why weren’t they kissing anymore?

As was natural for them, Haru obliged, though he now crawled onto his lap.

With renewed vigor, Makoto’s hands returned to Haru’s hair for a moment, then traveled to cup his cheeks, feeling their facial muscles work under the pads of his fingers. Haru keened into him with his own kiss, hips rolling and… they both went rigid. An icy hot feeling shot straight through Makoto’s spine and settled in his less nobler parts. With how blown Haru’s eyes were, he felt _it_ , too. _More, It_ insisted. Haru scrambled up and immediately Makoto missed that warmth between them. In his haste to follow his best friend, he collided with him as he rounded the corner to the stairs. The impact caused them to kiss once more, though not detouring from their goal. Lips breaking only when necessary, they eventually made it Makoto’s bedroom. Makoto fumbled for the light switch and then hoisted Haru with both arms to his waist to carry him the rest of the way to bed.

Gently, rather, as gently as he could manage in a hormone driven state, laid Haru on his back, climbed on with him to straddle his body and bent over to lavish his face and neck with kisses.

Haru reached for the hem of Makoto’s shirt and gave it a tug, fingers grazing his stomach. _Off._

After a shiver subsided, he moved to do so, only for Haru to whine at the lack of kissing that caused. Undressing proved to be a lot more difficult while trying to maintain kisses with one’s partner. Through tangled limbs, sleeves, pant legs and failed contained laughter, eventually their clothes were on a pile on the floor and their bodies were fully exposed to one another.

Seeing Haru half naked was something Makoto saw everyday, but it never hit him quite like this. He was beautiful, many would agree to that, but here, in front of him, patches of red on his chest and neck, lips swollen, eyes glazed and focused only on him; nothing compared.

 

Whatever admiring thoughts Makoto was distracted by, Haru was growing impatient and surged forward with his mouth and arms to pull him down, seeking the full-body contact he craved. Rather than falling completely on top, Makoto suspended his upper half on his elbows, lower region carefully lining them at the exact moment Haru bucked his hips upward. He gasped with him at the contact. Gradually they built a steady pace together.

The weight and heated motion was more than his swimmer’s lungs could handle, much to his chagrin. Not a _complete_ waste as Makoto took the opportunity of his free mouth to explore elsewhere - jaw, throat, shoulders. He felt him move back to his neck and the pressure changed from a kiss to a suck. The abruptness had Haru grabbing onto Makoto’s back, firm yet soft muscles, for purchase.

Makoto stilled, panting, waiting.

He nodded - _I’m okay_ \- hair fanning over his shoulder of which he hadn’t realized was freckled until just this moment and was disappointed of all the years he’d missed out on looking at them. He kissed his apology and then followed Makoto’s example in sucking, which then turned into a bite.

Makoto let out a pleasurable hiss and, with a break in their movements, reached over to his nightstand drawer and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Flushed from head to toe from what they had been doing, yet still finding shame in ownership of the bottle, Haru watched him pop the cap and squeeze the contents into his hands.

He caught his breath in anticipation and spread his legs, slightly. Makoto brought himself up on his knees and took him in his cold, lubricated hands. Grabbing onto the sheets, he tried to not lose himself to how hard and sensitive he had already become. Knowing this, feeling it as well and wanting this to last longer, Makoto rubbed him carefully, gliding the excess onto the jut of his hipbone. Makoto grabbed for the bottle again, but Haru stopped him with a touch to his knee, _Let me_. With a nod he complied and sat back on his hands for Haru to get up from underneath him.

The lubricant was like ice in his heated palm and it was refreshing for a few seconds before it warmed. Like the rest of him, Makoto’s length was also large. While he coated him, he felt him twitch in his hold - he was close, too. Hands did not provide the sense of closeness he had been reveling in and withdrew to palm at Makoto’s sturdy chest, signalling him to lay on his back. He anchored his descent by holding on to Haru’s arms. From this position Makoto seemed shier in his half-mast gaze, though no less trusting. Lining their groins, he gave an experimental thrust and his body tingled with the desire to feel more.

Arching his back in wanton, Makoto received the message and picked up the pace in earnest with him. Haru conformed to his edges, willing himself to meld with him, skin on skin, pulse on pulse. The change in position validated the strength of their specialized strokes as their bodies flexed with the ease and power they would have in the water.

He was unclear who reached their climax first as one moment they were lost in the momentum and the next they were crashing onto the sheets in labored breaths and wetness between them. Too tired to do more than look at one another until sleep overtook them, Haru drifted away thinking they were that in harmony with one another that they released at the same time.

 

Morning light seeped through the blinds in yellows and golds, birds chirping their morning tunes. Between the glow and the sounds, Makoto stirred awake and let his eyes adjust to ceiling above him. As he lay there awaiting his senses to awaken, he noted the ache in his back and hips and then remembered.

He sat up with a bolt, the comforter falling to his lap and he turned to his left to see Haru smiling up at him. And not just any smile - smiles were sparsely given - it was relaxed and sweet and happy all rolled into one and Makoto could count on a hand how often that one happened.

“Good mornig-ohmyg-,” his eyes caught the various purple and blue marks that dotted Haru’s neck and shoulder areas and he couldn’t quite remembering causing _all_ of them. He bit his lip to prevent apologizing, because he didn’t regret what he did, at least, he didn’t think that he did or _should_ and-

“Good morning, Makoto,” the expression didn’t change and his voice also said he didn’t regret last night either, nor the marks he’d left on him. He looked so cute and content with disheveled bedhead. “I’ve decided.”

“Decided? On what?” he wracked his brain for conversations they had last night and for the life of him he could only remember how desperate they were to be in each other’s warmth.

“I’m going to Tokyo, too.”


End file.
